SG-3's further sweeps of the tower were as much of a bust as their first. In spite of that, Makepeace strictly forbade Henderson from trying Varayimshaeta's brain probe, as his own experiences were still far too fresh in his mind. He was firmly backed in this decision by Johnson and Andrews. This time Henderson didn't even put up a token protest. The matter was dropped.
The days were slightly longer on 3Y5-116, a full day-night cycle lasting a little more than twenty-nine Earth hours. SG-3 passed two more nights in their ever-expanding gilded cage. A variety of entertainments appeared. Newly remodeled rooms held pool and billiard tables, foosball, dart boards, decks of cards, video games, and even a roulette wheel. Makepeace shook his head at that one. That particular game had never appealed to him.
Their dressers were always stocked with fresh, clean clothes, pressed and neatly folded. But like their food, the garments were all merely copies of their BDU's. The sizes were correct, but there was no variety, and there was no way to differentiate Varayimshaeta's duplicates from the originals.
The men spent most their time exploring the increasing number of human habitats, searching for any possibility of escape, any little opening that Varayimshaeta might have overlooked. Their recons always came up empty. During breaks, they watched the servitors tend the newly planted fields, and scared themselves silly with all-too-realistic speculations about their probable future.
"You know," Henderson commented at dinner on their fourth day as pampered pets, "it's possible that Vara's already started its little biology project."
"You had to bring that up, didn't you?" Makepeace said. "I was trying not to think about it." He pushed his food around his plate with his fork. The china pattern was maddeningly familiar, but for the life of him he couldn't place it. He wondered which forgotten corner of his mind Varayimshaeta had dredged it up from. It wasn't his ex's, or his mother's. He didn't own any china anymore—all the good stuff had gone with Joanna after the divorce—and his own, everyday dishes were pretty utilitarian.
"What are you two talking about?" Johnson asked sharply. "I'm sorry, sir, I know it's probably got samples from you, but I ain't volunteered any tissue lately."
"It's had plenty of opportunity to collect genetic material, Lieutenant," Henderson informed him. "Humans shed cells all the time. Dead skin cells here, some hair follicles there... We leave cellular residue on the utensils when we eat and drink."
Johnson carefully set down his crystal goblet and stared at it. "Fuck."
"Not to mention personal hygiene activities—"
"Will you shut up already?"
Andrews pointed out with false cheer, "And you scraped your hand the other day, banging on that door. You probably left lots of nice, fresh cells for Vara's servitors to collect. Let's face it, our keeper could have hundreds of new buns in the oven already and we'd never know a thing about it. Think about that the next time you use the crapper or blow your nose."
Johnson growled.
"That's enough," Makepeace said. "I'm trying to eat, here." Everyone shut up, and dinner was concluded in uncomfortable silence.
3Y5-116's longer days and heavier gravity conspired to drain the men's energy reserves. With the added pressures of being prisoners and worrying about Varayimshaeta's plans, they were starting to get on one another's nerves. In the evenings they burned off some of the stress in the newly added game rooms. They even tried out the swimming pool. The only novelty room they didn't experiment with was the theater, Makepeace reiterating his order that it remain off limits.
In spite of all the available distractions, frequent bouts of bickering erupted into full-blown arguments even more often than was usual for them. However, no one offered to move out into any of the other apartments available. The last thing any of them wanted was to be separated if they could avoid it.
Sometimes Makepeace thought it a pity that no bar ever materialized. Then again, perhaps that was just as well. Alcohol would probably have only exacerbated the situation.
On the plus side, the enforced time off permitted Makepeace to get a little more comfortable in his own skin again. The others stopped treating him like glass. They also all came to the conclusion that his attitudes and behavior were normal. "Well, as normal as possible for a bird colonel," Andrews had commented with studied irreverence.
The dreams didn't return, the alien memories appeared only on demand. He didn't have any more seizures. Makepeace stopped worrying so much that Varayimshaeta had reprogrammed his mind or otherwise screwed up his head. He knew the shrinks and neurologists back home were going to have a field day with him—assuming he ever managed to get back home—but the fear that he wasn't trustworthy, that he was a danger to his men, became just another irritant in the background noise.